Hell to the Blaine
by NeneJPhilly
Summary: A phone call. That's all it takes for someone's world to crash & burn. In Blaine's case, it was a text. From one Rachel Berry specifically. T for language. {COMPLETE}


A phone call. That's all it takes for someone's world to crash & burn. In Blaine's case, it was a text. From one Rachel Berry specifically. He'd been coming from class when he stopped to check his phone when it buzzed. He didn't know who it could be because anyone he truly cared about was about to see him soon.

 **Cheerleading accident. Marcy in hospital**.

Five words. Five short words that stopped his breath & his journey. He spun on his heels & went straight to his locker for his gloves. He couldn't be around people.

Once he made it; he taped up his hands, slipped on his gloves & beat the punching bag like it would make her well. He didn't even know what was going on but knew he couldn't face other people. He was never good with _those_ emotions. The ones that made a man want to cry.

Little did he know, he was doing so anyway…

He punched & he cried. _What kind of accident? Is she going to be okay? Will my friend make it?_ All questions that ran through his mind but he was too terrified to stop  & ask questions aloud. He preferred his solitude.

He punched harder as he thought about how much she meant to him. He barely knew her but his friends had made him feel welcome. He felt as if he'd known them his whole life. They made him feel like family when his own was so messed up & others previously had shunned him. Dalton was not the best experience & he thought it'd continue at McKinley but Mercedes had saved him.

She was one of his most cherished friends. But so was her serious sister. He knew part of Marcy's personality was cruelty but he truly felt she only meant half of her insults to hurt. It was why he wore "Forties Reject" with pride. He happened to know she was old-fashioned. It was something they had in common. He was born in the wrong era as well.

Now his "old" buddy was laid up in a hospital, having who knew what happening to her. It was torture but he couldn't stop punching. He couldn't bring himself to use the cell phone is his pocket, begging him to find out more information.

He used quick jabs every time he remembered an assault on his wardrobe's lack of socks though he told her & Puck time & again that they were ankle socks & simply fell into his shoes. He uppercut whenever he thought back to how she pointed out a few closeted gay guys that would love a commitment free tumble as long as he kept his mouth shut. Who would pimp him out like that if she were gone?

Who would tell him that the guy sneering at him was openly leering mere moments before? That the teacher smiling ear from ear was on Prozac & therefore never actually checked to make sure the homework was correct & he could spend that time on other things? That the musicals he loved were stupid & not made for people who liked their men to be men so he could lament on how rude & insensitive her comments were though he secretly agreed? Who would wear something polka dotted so they'd match once a week because they were just that corny?

Who would he dance with in glee? Team up with to sing duets that knocked the socks off their friends though they were just goofing around? Who would let her high pony down when no one was around to watch & headbang on the drums then hurriedly throw it back up when a Cheerio walked by so she stayed on top of the school's stupid social ladder? Who would invite him over for boxing tips though her moves were great on their own?

He was getting tired from the rushed, uninterrupted movements but moreso because he couldn't answer a single one of those questions. The truth was, he didn't want to replace her. He wanted _her_. She was his friend  & he felt he shouldn't have to replace her. She should be back in the cafeteria with him & the rest of their friends complaining about out of touch teachers, clueless classmates & temperamental coaches. She shouldn't be in a damn hospital.

He blinked as he heard the metal door creak. He didn't want to be bothered. He just wanted to punch bags. He was too tightly wound to deal with someone else's bullshit. He ignored the approach but stilled when he heard his name from an unlikely source. "Blaine?"


End file.
